


Marked

by cooperjones2020



Series: The Beast Within [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: BDSM, Betty Cooper might have an exhibitionism kink, Dark Betty, Dark Jughead, Dom Jughead, Dom!Jug, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jughead Jones is a stalker, Jughead is a creep, PWP, Violent Sex, and a weirdo, but Betty likes it, consenual, gratuitous Shakespeare references, i don't even know what i'm doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooperjones2020/pseuds/cooperjones2020
Summary: He likes to watch her sleep.----In which Jughead is a creep, Dark!Betty and Dark!Juggie are goals, and Dom!Juggie is heavily hinted at.unbeta'ed





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After years and years of fangirling my way across various fandoms and fanfiction sites, this is the first thing I've ever actually posted.
> 
> Suggested music is, of course, Creep by Radiohead.
> 
> Also, I made a Bughead sideblog: https://cooperjones2020.tumblr.com/

He likes to watch her sleep.  


At night, with her tight ponytail let down and her tiny little pajamas, with her breathy sighs and deep, even breaths, Betty Cooper belongs only to Jughead Jones.  


During the day, he has to share her with Archie and Veronica, with her mother and Polly. Hell, even with Mayor McCoy and Principal Weatherbee. Kevin. Ethel. Cheryl. The Vixens. The hordes of people who depend on perfect Betty Cooper to keep their worlds running.  


  


They would never guess what she’s like with when she’s with him.

Today, he’d stroked her wet pussy at the lunch table. He can’t help it. She shows up every day in her Alice Cooper-approved modest skirts and perfect pastel sweaters and her demure pink lipstick and he wants to rub it all over her face with his cock. He wants to defile Betty Cooper.  


So, when they’d sat down across from Kevin and Ronnie, and she’d handed him the roast beef and cheddar sandwich she’d made him along with half of the turkey and mayo she’d made herself, he did. Barely feet from their friends, he set his right hand down on her thigh. He rubbed it. It could have been a gesture of comfort, she was telling Ronnie about the latest Alice Cooper meltdown after all. But when he’d reached her knee and retreated, he pulled her skirt up too.  


She continued with her story like nothing had happened.  


He rubbed a knuckle up and down her slit until he could feel dampness start to seep through. She subtly shifted her hips and flicked her eyes up to his but kept talking. He swirled a thumb around her clit and slid the pad of one finger under the edge of her panties. At one point she’d turned bright red and grabbed his wrist. But only Kevin seemed to notice, giving her a brief, quizzical look.  


He kept her like that, on the edge of giving herself away, the whole lunch hour. And when the bell rang, when they’d normally go to the Blue and Gold office for their free period, Principal Weatherbee had called her in to solve the latest crisis. Oops, no orgasm for Betty today. Jughead had had a grand time getting himself off on the plaid couch they normally shared, fisting himself with the sweater he’d filched from her. It had still smelled like her. Good luck explaining those stains to Alice Cooper.

  


She looked like an angel while she slept, fucking cliché that it is. Her head rested on one elbow and the strap of her cami was slipping off one shoulder. The floral printed sheet did little to hide the dip and curve of her waist and ass. She took a sudden deep breath and her breasts wobbled. He could see her nipples puckering thanks to the cool breeze from the window he’d left open.

  


Betty Cooper knows his darkness and she likes it. She knows all the secrets he tried to hide from her. One of his journals is peaking out from under her pillow, from where she must have been reading it before she went to sleep. She’d found them one time at FP’s trailer, and he didn’t have the heart to say no to her when she’d asked if she could read it. It was back when he was still testing her, when he was expecting her to leave him for Archie – really, when he was trying to drive her away before he became any more addicted to her.  


But it was already too late for that.  


Because that journal revealed just how deep his addiction went. It revealed years of watching her through Archie’s window after the other boy had fallen asleep. It revealed every time he’d snuck out of his own house to come back and watch her through the Nancy Drew binoculars she thought she’d lost. It even revealed the panties he’d stolen from her hamper, one night freshman year when she’d gone downstairs to get him a snack during a study session.  


She gave him her virginity that day she found the journal, in his childhood bed, surrounded by the scents of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Oh yes, Betty Cooper likes his darkness.

  


They both get off on it, the juxtaposition of their stereotypes, the girl-next-door cheerleader and the loser from the other side of the tracks. They get off on the darker implications of those stereotypes too. Years of having no control over anything in his life meant he liked it when he could restrain her, could take from her what he wanted. Years of perfectionism meant Betty liked it when he called her a good girl as he shoved his cock down her throat. When she could give him control over her body and shut off her mind.  


Sometimes he has a feeling that Archie senses something about their relationship. That years of being around the both of them, of knowing deep in his bones the fierce, independent side of Betty Cooper and the psychological damage inflicted on Jughead Jones meant Archie could sense the little ways she capitulated around him. The ways she let him—and only him—lead her. But Archie isn’t smart enough to put all the pieces together. Not yet, anyway.  


If Archie thought about it though, if he thought about the story Chuck had told at Jughead’s birthday—  


He can feel himself tensing, his fists curling up, but he makes an effort to breathe and release. He would make sure no one else got to see that Betty again. That Betty was his. He would keep her safe.

  


He can’t mark her where anyone can see anymore. Ginger had made a comment once about a bruise on her wrist and the nurse had slipped her a pamphlet about ‘how to know if you’re in an abusive relationship.’  


That’s okay. It’s more fun if they’re the only ones who know. It’s a game, getting her riled up enough that she begs him to mark her. To own her.

  


She’s rolled onto her back now. He shrugs off his jacket and slides the sheet down her body, before settling himself between her legs. He can see scratches and yellowed bruises around her hipbones, and he knows there’s a fresh red mark like a brand on the underside of her left tit.  


Other people may not be able to see it, but Betty Cooper is his.  


He reaches one hand up to cover her mouth and bites her thigh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the filthiest thing that has ever come out of my head. It is full of toxic masculinity and I’m sorry, but creepy Jug wouldn't let me sleep til I wrote it.
> 
> Also trigger warnings for references to self-harm/violence and a hell of a lot of mixed metaphors.
> 
> This Jug is going back into his box and I’m going to go write something fluffy now. Happy Canada Day!
> 
> https://cooperjones2020.tumblr.com/

She is slipping away from him. He’s not going to let her.

He watches her, from his corner of the room, as she makes the rounds. She smiles at everyone, shaking hands with some, hugging others, kissing the cheek of a lucky few. Betty Cooper, in her lacy dress, her hair down her back in messy waves, is the consummate hostess. And, if he can see the slump in her shoulders and the tired creases around her eyes—Well. It would be over soon.

She’s moving now, toward the bar. He takes a sip of his drink and sets the half-full glass down on the table. He gets up and moves to tail her, circling her, keeping the same amount of distance between them but ensuring he stays in her peripheral vision. He orbits around her like the sun, her gravitational pull giving order to his universe.

He’s not sure what he likes better, observing her in secrecy or the little moments he catches her eye, the way she startles. The way he can see her breath hitch in her chest and the way he knows her voice must falter.  


  
He’d retreated after the first hour, content in his role as Betty’s shadow, her moon. He thought he’d made his claim on her pretty fucking clear by now, but still Reggie Mantle had dragged her onto the dance floor. He was mesmerized by the sway of her hair, a beat off of the movement of her hips.

Then. Then. Reggie had slid his hand down her spine, coming dangerously close to her plump ass. He saw red.

But Betty had caught the encroaching limb, pulling it up and frowning at Reggie. A minute later she excused herself and made her way over to the caterer.

He knows she can take care of herself. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have visions of cutting Reggie’s dick off and feeding it to him for breakfast.  


  
Three hours later and he’s still watching her. When she circles back to Ronnie and Kevin, Archie slumped against the table behind them, he makes his move.

He appears behind her, relishes her little jump as he grabs her elbow. “Party’s over. Let’s go. Veronica, you don’t mind finishing up, right?”

“You still have guests.” Her tone is haughty. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah well, they’re clearly insensitive creeps who don’t get social cues cause people have been leaving for an hour and someone”—his eyes slide to Betty—“can barely keep her feet beneath her.” He pulls her away before Veronica can respond.  


  
When the elevator door closes, when they’re finally, blissfully alone, he hauls her to him and slips a thigh between her legs.

“Reggie touched you tonight. You’re going to pay for that. You know the rules.”

If he didn’t know her better, he’d think she was scared. But the wide doe eyes, the corner of the lip she’s chewing on, it’s all a part of the game. She likes flirting with danger, going right up to the edge and trusting him to catch her.

He grinds his leg against her clit. “What are the rules, Betty?”

“No—no one else gets to touch me,” she stutters. But then the elevator doors ding and he jumps back, leaving her swaying, a willow bough aslant a brook.

He grabs her wrist and drags her after him. The little noise she emits tells him he’s squeezing too hard, he’s hurting her. Her fragile skin will bruise. Good. He’s going to break her tonight.

“Dress off. On the bed. Now.” Something in his chest purrs when she scrambles to follow his orders. When she doesn’t seem to notice that she’s moaning the word “yes” over and over. It growls when he sees no bra as the dress pools on the floor.

It begins to settle as soon as his hands are on her. She slips through his system like a drug, quicker and more addictive than Xanax.

He presses a hard kiss against her mouth and moves lower. It’s not her mouth he wants tonight. He bites her collarbone and thumbs the mark, before sliding his hands down her arms and drawing them up to clutch at the headboard.

He knows the finely tuned instrument that is Betty’s body. He knows that if you twist her right nipple, she’ll emit a sharp little squeak. If you suck on the underside of her jaw, it’s a deep groan. When he shoves his way inside her before she’s ready, she lets out a rude, masculine grunt. When he licks her pussy until her clit quivers like hummingbird wings, she’ll pant like a dog for his cock.

He nibbles his way down her stomach and slides the sticky thong down her legs. He pauses for a sucking kiss at the little crown he’d carved at the juncture of her thigh over the course of the summer they were seventeen.

He tongues the ridges of the scar. She sighs, soothed as he is by the familiar ritual, and hands settle into his hair.

“Are you going to keep your hands where I say or do I have to tie them there?” The hands leave.

“Good. Now shut up.” He shoves her panties in her mouth and her eyes rolls back as she groans. The sound makes his cock twitch. He slaps her and her eyes fly open.

Tonight his goal is to find a new melody. Betty Cooper is an orchestra and he is the maestro. Her thong will be the capo.

He starts with his fingers. She flies apart under his hands, a thousand sharp pieces he can’t wait to cut himself on. He wants her in a thousand pieces more. He wants to grind the glass shards that make up Betty Cooper under his heel until she’s powder and no one else can put her back together.

“Again.”

When his wrist tires, he alternates with his tongue. He pulls out the vibrator he’d snuck into the hotel nightstand earlier and puts it directly on her clit on the highest setting.

Her sharp yelp eventually gives way to a chorus of muffled “ah-ah-ahs” as she turns her head to the side and tries to bury it in the pillow.

But he can’t have that. He grabs her hair and yanks her head down. “Look. I want you to see what I’m doing to you.” He wants her a quivering, sobbing mess underneath him. He wants her to feel as raw and exposed as he does when she looks at him. He wants it to hurt when he finally takes her.

She falls apart twice more. Only then does he flip her over and sink his cock into the searing white heat of her cunt. When he has her hips in position, he reaches forward, extracts the panties, and hooks two fingers into her mouth, drawing her up.

A calm descends. He detaches from his body and watches them from the ceiling as his hips drive into hers again and again. There’s no noise but for Betty’s continuous wail. It rings in his ears like tinnitus. He wants it to be the only sound he hears for the rest of life.

He snaps back into himself when he comes, hosing her down from the inside out. He hopes she’s pregnant. Then she can never leave him.

He pulls out of her and sees her wince, so he gently lowers her down to the mattress, cocooning her as he brushes his arms up and down her body.

Tear tracks slip down the sides of her face and her mascara is smeared round her eyes. Her face is red, with a deeper patch on the cheek where he’d slapped her. She glistens with sweat and saliva. She is glorious. He is so in love with her he can’t see straight.

She raises a hand to the side of his face. Gems wink as they catch the light and he sees her smile. “You’re an idiot. It was our engagement party.”


End file.
